This Saturday, July 7, is the centenary of the birth of Robert Heinlein. There’s a celebratory conference in Kansas City to mark the occasion. I’ll mark it another way, by rereading Have Space Suit, Will Travel (1958), which, if memory serves, was the first Heinlein book I ever read. Thirteen may be the perfect age to discover the worlds of this most excellent spinner of tales.

He was born in Butler, Missouri, and I take completely irrational pride in mentioning that my high school was in the same athletic conference and sometimes beat Butler in basketball, though never in football. If that’s the kind of stretch it takes to claim a brush with greatness, I’ll take it.

There are 35 books by him on my bookshelf now, and that’s not the complete oeuvre. I have all the juvenile novels – my favorite? Maybe Citizen of the Galaxy (1957) – most of the collected stories, and the adult novels up to Stranger in a Strange Land (1961) and, less happily, a couple beyond that bestseller.

The late books do not speak to me. For one thing, Heinlein seems to have forgotten one of the rules of good writing laid down by his – may I say our? – fellow Missourian, Mark Twain: “Eschew surplusage.” They are blockbusters. Worse, they are bloated. Lazarus Long, his mouthpiece in several late novels, quickly became a bore and then, he would have us believe, kept it up for better than a thousand years. It’s as though the writer, having found his voice and his message and his audience, suddenly felt the touch of mortality and feared that he hadn’t yet made himself clear. But he had.

Oh, those early books and stories! The “History of the Future”! How many of us tried to decipher that chart when it was printed in the front of cheap paperbacks, the ink of the 4-point type spreading into pulpy paper to the point of illegibility!

For some reason the opening line “Don’t be a sentimental fool, Sam!” has always stuck in my memory. (It’s from the story “Logic of Empire.”) Thus began, for me and for so many of my contemporaries, a first lesson in the nature of political power. “The Man Who Sold the Moon” taught us something about the uses of capitalism. Citizen of the Galaxy was my introduction to anthropology. “The Green Hills of Earth” is a sentimental tribute to the working man as quiet hero. “Waldo” raised questions that I couldn’t even frame until I had taken a couple of courses in philosophy in college.

And from all the stories and novels, we learned the one great thing we needed most to understand: that there are no substitutes for personal honor and self-reliance.

We also learned, or should have, never to address a red-headed woman as “Carrot-top.” Heinlein simply could not write man-woman dialogue that is not embarrassing to read. Thankfully, there is relatively little of it in the earlier works. (Puppet Masters is an unfortunate exception, but a fine read nonetheless.)

What one book of Heinlein’s should you read if you’re only going to read one? The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (1966). It is simply superb. My guess is that you won’t stop at just one.